


Goodness is Going With You

by slytherco



Series: Drarry Prompt Collection [3]
Category: Harry Potter - J. K. Rowling
Genre: (in general), Bottom Draco Malfoy, Boys In Love, Dom/sub Undertones, Emotional Hurt/Comfort, Established Relationship, Fluff and Smut, Gentle Harry, Gentleness, Harry Potter Epilogue What Epilogue | EWE, Intercrural Sex, M/M, Non-Penetrative Sex, Plot What Plot/Porn Without Plot, Porn with Feelings, Praise Kink, Rimming, Shameless Smut, Spanking, There's a LOT of feelings and softness here, Top Harry Potter, Wet & Messy
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-04-30
Updated: 2020-04-30
Packaged: 2021-03-01 20:13:53
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 3,660
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/23932867
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/slytherco/pseuds/slytherco
Summary: When Draco has a bad day, Harry knows exactly how to make him feelgood—by taking Draco apart, piece by piece, using only their bodies.
Relationships: Draco Malfoy/Harry Potter
Series: Drarry Prompt Collection [3]
Series URL: https://archiveofourown.org/series/1551397
Comments: 18
Kudos: 478





	Goodness is Going With You

**Author's Note:**

> My second attempt at smut! Written for the anonymous prompt:
> 
> _"Can you write a soft smut featuring bottom draco and spanking? (...)"_
> 
> I hope you like it, anon! I added a few extra tropes for my own enjoyment as well, to make this encounter a bit more full. ;)
> 
> Special thanks go to Bella ([onereader](https://archiveofourown.org/users/onereader/pseuds/onereader)) for being the loveliest, most patient, enthusiastic beta I could ever hope for! (and for sharing my kinks, obviously <3)

Draco Apparates to the steps leading to the front door of twelve Grimmauld Place. He’s in a foul mood—it has been a long, hard, unrewarding day at the Wizengamot. Though, when he thought about it, weren’t they all? With a heavy sigh, he braces himself to go inside. It feels unfair, and probably is, to take it out on his unsuspecting boyfriend. And the crystal clear knowledge that Harry would go above and beyond to make him feel better only makes it worse—Harry would take it, he would listen to Draco’s tirade about the inefficiency and bureaucracy of the wizarding justice system, about his judgemental colleagues and the abhorrent quality of coffee in the break room. But Harry deserves better. Harry is good, and pure, and nothing if not loving and understanding and Draco is not going to ruin his day with a rant and a childish pout. Keeping that in mind, he decides to Apparate straight into the bedroom.

He lands smoothly, without a sound. There’s a faint buzz coming from downstairs, most likely because Harry has fallen asleep in front of the telly. Draco sighs heavily, shucking off his robes, and falls onto the covers. Harry will be disappointed in the morning, to find out that Draco didn’t let him know he was home, but it’s for the better. He doesn’t want to wake Harry up—he’s going to come up to bed anyway, in an hour or two. He will sneak into their bed and wrap himself around Draco, and they will wake up together like they always do. 

The door creaks, ultimately ruining Draco’s elaborate plan. A warm presence envelops him from head to toe. The presence huffs amusedly and speaks.

“Hi, love,” Harry murmurs into his hair, placing a kiss at the top of his head.

Draco shifts, nosing at the tendon under Harry’s ear. “How do you always know when I’m home?” he asks, revelling in the solid warmth wrapped around him, inhaling Harry’s calming, smoky scent. His Grand Plan shifts, but Draco’s not complaining.

The deep sound of Harry’s quiet chuckle envelops Draco like a safety bubble. “I waited for you,” he says and adds: “I heard what happened at the trial. Is that why you decided to hide here and sulk?”

Draco huffs. “M’not sulking, Potter. I fucked up. We all fucked up.”

“It wasn’t your fault,” Harry frowns and adjusts their position so he is facing Draco properly. “Hey. You know that, right? Things like that happen all the time.”

“I just—” Draco buries his face in Harry’s neck again. “I’m supposed to be _good_ at this.”

“Oh, Draco, you _are_ good,” Harry whispers. He slides a warm hand under Draco’s shirt, stroking his back, and Draco arches into the touch. “You’re their best prosecutor. You’re good,” he keeps talking softly, “you’re so good.”

 _Good_. Hearing that word slide off Harry’s lips never fails to make Draco shiver. He needs to be good. He _wants_ to be good, for himself, for Harry, for _them_. If he’s good enough for Harry, then maybe, one day, he can be good enough for the rest of the world.

Harry is more than he could ever need or imagine, anyway.

He looks up into striking green and his chest feels tight; then Harry leans in to kiss him. They’ve been together for three years and Draco’s breath is still punched out of him every time they do this. He opens his mouth and melts into the kiss, making a small sound at the back of his throat. That feeling of awe currently coursing through his veins never really dissipates—it’s a crippling kind of euphoria, to have _this_ , to be allowed so impossibly close, both body and mind, to know Harry is only _his_ , just as much as he is Harry’s.

He’s pulled closer and closer, and his body starts to react in the most thrilling of ways. Draco sees black pupils slowly swallowing green, trembles under the heated breaths skimming over his lips and down his neck, feels the hard, firm muscles envelop him as Harry’s hips begin to move in a languid, torturous rhythm.

His stomach coils as their kisses turn hungry and open-mouthed; he watches Harry’s spit-slick lips and can’t help but bite them lightly and that sets Harry off completely. He slides one hand under Draco’s shirt, grabs his hip with the other, and ruts against him with unabashed fervour. 

It’s a sight to behold: Harry’s face, all adoration and hunger, his tousled hair, the faint blush of his cheeks. He sighs and groans, and Draco wants to drown in those sounds, barely able to make out the words. There’s _good_ , and _Draco_ , and _fuck_ , and the rest is a jumble of praise and wonder bestowed upon every inch of skin Harry can reach.

One particularly toe-curling thrust is all it takes for Draco to moan into Harry’s mouth, holding onto him for dear life as a simmering heat slowly starts to pool at the base of his spine.

“I’ve got you. Make you feel better, yeah?” Harry murmurs, kissing his jaw. “Fuck, Draco, look at you. Gorgeous.”

“Harry,” Draco breathes, “I need— I— _Fuck_.” He tries to say it with the arch of his body and the tremble in his hands, and judging by the way Harry sucks on his neck, he knows exactly what it is that Draco needs.

“I know. I’ve got you,” he repeats and sits up, pulling Draco with him. They kiss, slow and sweet, as Harry starts undoing the buttons on Draco’s shirt.

A burning flush begins to spread over Draco’s face, down to his neck and chest. He never has to say it out loud—Harry just knows, knows _Draco_ ,inside and out, and he’s always there to provide the comfort Draco’s too afraid to ask for. 

He briefly remembers the first time they’d done this. Not sex—that has always lingered between them, ever since after the war. It had hung in the air for quite a while before they got over their past and finally gathered the courage to even think about it, let alone act on those turbulent, complicated feelings. And when the floodgates opened, when two bodies turned out to be made for each other… Falling was inevitable.

He thinks about that one night, remembers feeling tense and vulnerable in a way no Slytherin should ever even dream of. And yet, Draco can still recall Harry’s blown pupils when he whispered the words hotly against his pulse, his careful, strong hands holding Draco like a precious gift, the fire sizzling all over his skin. Of what happened next, Draco remembers very little, actually—flashes of sensation, tension dissolving from his body, his limbs turning liquid and then, there was just pure, divine, inescapable bliss.

A shiver goes down Draco’s back as Harry rids him of his shirt, unbuckles his belt, and takes off his socks and underwear. And then, he finally has Draco where he wants him: flushed, naked, and wanting on their bed, under Harry’s hands and lips, and there’s no other place Draco would rather be. He kisses a trail down Draco’s chest, hands stroking his sides; pauses to lick and suck on a nipple and instinctively knows to hold Draco down as he arches up into his mouth with a low moan.

“So good,” Harry whispers. He gives the pinkened nipple one last flick of his tongue and straightens, stroking the jut of Draco’s hip, purposefully neglecting his now fully hard cock. “Let me take care of you, love,” he says. “Could you get on all fours for me?”

Draco hoists himself up and Harry pulls him into a deep kiss, as if unable to stop. As Draco arranges himself into position, in the corner of his eye, he sees Harry palm the front of his trousers, watching him, taking in every dip and curve of his body. He can’t help but shiver in anticipation when he feels warm, calloused hands glide over his back, going lower and kneading the soft flesh of his cheeks.

Draco lets out a breath he didn’t realize he was holding and shoots a quick look at the dresser in the corner of the room. Harry places a small kiss at the dip of his spine.

“Not tonight,” he says quietly, rubbing soothing circles into Draco’s arse. “You’ve had a long day, I don’t want to overwhelm you.” A small whimper escapes Draco when Harry’s fingers graze the back of his balls. “I’ll just use my hand tonight, is that all right?”

The first strike lands without warning, a second after Draco nods in affirmation. He cries out at the slight sting but it soon turns into a soft moan when a familiar, delicious heat starts to bloom over his skin. Harry slaps his arse again, switching to the other cheek, and Draco feels his cock twitch as the first droplets of precome gather at the tip.

It’s not about submission, at least not entirely; it’s not wholly sexual, either, Draco thinks. Time and again, he has tried to dissect everything he felt about this, about Harry spanking him without Draco having to ask. To Draco, it’s a source of comfort; his job requires him to be in control at all times— _constant vigilance_ , as some would say. Discovering that control can be given up, even for a while, has turned out to be… liberating. The thrill of giving himself over to Harry, to this strange, addictive mix of pleasure and absolute trust, has become Draco’s safety net. Nothing has yet compared to that feeling and even though he’s the one technically submitting, in that moment, Draco feels _powerful_.

More hits land on his arse and by this time, his skin must be taking on a deep, pink colour. Draco hears Harry’s heavy breaths as he soothes every hit with soft strokes to his abused skin. 

“Beautiful,” Harry whispers, peppering his back with slow licks and kisses, delivering another strike. Draco whimpers, feeling his cock strain and twitch, and tries to find some friction on the sheets below. “Ah, ah, no,” Harry tuts, keeping him in place. “Can you take a little more, love?”

“Nnngh,” Draco breathes, “Yes. Please.”

Harry spanks him, again, and again, the hits growing harder but nowhere near unpleasant. It burns and stings, and it’s so unbelievably _good_ , Draco is moaning and babbling, sticking his arse out, pleading for more. Hot, bubbling arousal replaces all the tension as his limbs turn to cotton. The last strike is the hardest and Draco screams, feeling a burning imprint of Harry’s hand on his skin; his balls draw higher at Harry’s low groan as if it were just as good for him. 

His eyes start to water as the burn lingers; Draco lets out a small whine when Harry touches him again, a featherlike brush that somehow manages to make him squirm. He feels, rather than sees, Harry bend down and then, he’s kissing Draco’s back, putting out the fire with his lips and tongue. Draco’s thighs tremble under Harry’s hot breaths ghosting all over his back, the dimples just below, and, yes, _gods, yes_ , going lower, turning fast and shallow. Harry pauses for a second, covering Draco’s body with his own, hands caressing his sides; he’s still fully clothed but even with all the layers of fabric Draco feels the delicious, insistent press of a hard length against the back of his thigh. He pushes back, moaning, dipping his head between his shoulders. The knowledge of how much Harry gets off on this, on having Draco splayed open for him, being so good, soft and pliant under his hands, is intoxicating. 

Despite the thick fog of desire obscuring his mind, Draco needs more; he wants Harry to touch him, his cock, in particular, to bring him to a point where all he can see is white and all he can say is Harry’s name, over and over again. And Draco might just have to be careful what he wishes for in the future, because Harry’s kissing him lower and lower, and the second he spreads Draco open, his mouth falls slack in a silent scream.

Slow and hot, Harry licks a stripe from his balls all the way up to his hole, damp breaths tickling the sensitive ring of muscle. He digs his fingers into the pink skin, shamelessly exposing Draco and closes his mouth around his opening. Draco bucks in his firm grip, again and again, pushes back, trying to impale himself on Harry’s tongue. The filthy, smacking sounds and Draco’s low, guttural moans echo in the otherwise silent room. Just as everything else he does, Harry slowly eats Draco out with his own brand of predatory focus—that same intensity that accompanies him in bringing criminals down to Azkaban is now aimed towards reducing Draco to a babbling, convulsing mess. 

As Draco is gradually loosening up, wet, shaking and wanting, Harry slides his tongue past the ring of muscle, slowly fucking Draco with his tongue. The excruciating rhythm of in and out, and in, and out, is bound to drive Draco insane, as he helplessly, wantonly pushes back.

“Harry,” Draco’s voice is wrecked when he mumbles his name. “Harry, please.”

Harry comes up for air with a quiet gasp and lightly bites his cheek. “Shh, I’ve got you.”

“I— I need,” Draco chokes out without really knowing what he needs right now. He can feel Harry’s unwilting arousal and, by gods, that’s all from spanking and licking him open.

“I know, god, Draco, I want to feel you. _All_ of you,” Harry whispers against his skin. On top of everything, he sounds completely wrecked, which only intensifies Draco’s own arousal. “You’ll come if I start prepping you with my fingers,” he adds matter-of-factly, sounding almost playful. He places one, last kiss to Draco’s arse. “I want it to last for you.”

Draco bites back a retort that if this divine torture lasts any longer, he will lose his _bloody mind_ , but ends up crying out as Harry sneaks a hand under his belly, warm fingers wrapping around his cock, sliding up to the tip.

They both moan at the touch; Draco feels Harry lightly bite his arse cheek, laving the spot with wet, open-mouthed kisses. He smears precome across his cock until it’s all slick, until Draco’s vision starts to blur with every too-slow, too-delicate tug. Harry seems to savour the touch, circling his slit with lubed fingers, teasing that sensitive spot with a promise of more. Draco wants to scream and thrash, but stays firmly in place, feeling the strain in his thighs, doing everything in his power not to thrust down.

“Draco,” Harry groans, kissing a path across his back. The hungry little noises he makes are enough for Draco to bite on his own shoulder in a feeble attempt to muffle any sound. “ _Oh_. You’re so wet,” he whispers urgently, pressing and rubbing his erection against Draco with growing insistence. “Gods, you’re almost dripping, _fuck_.”

“Yes, ah—” Draco wiggles his hips but Harry stops him. “Harry. Harry, _Harry please, fuck_ ,”

Harry pauses. “Just— Just let me try.”

He murmurs a quick spell and suddenly, there’s a warm naked body next to Draco’s own. Harry almost purrs at the touch and Draco wholeheartedly shares the sentiment, biting his lip at the skin-to-skin contact. Another spell that Draco can’t quite make out—lubrication, judging by the wet sound and Harry’s slow exhale—and then, the tip of Harry’s cock brushes the back of his balls, sliding lower, until it’s just below, nudging the crease where his thighs meet.

“Like this,” Harry says. He pushes forward, sliding his cock between Draco’s legs.

“Oh god, oh fuck, oh _fuck, Harry_!” Draco groans and throws his head back. 

Harry cants his hips until there is no space between them, just sticky-hot wetness, slides back, and forward again, and starts thrusting into the gap between Draco’s thighs.

The slick, smacking sound is downright filthy, echoing in the room among their groans and gasps. Draco looks down and the sight of Harry’s cock sliding between his wet thighs has to be the most erotic sight he has ever witnessed. Its glossy, purplish head peeking in and out, parting soft, milky skin and brushing against his balls on every stroke sends violent jolts of pleasure down his spine and makes his stomach curl. Draco absently thinks this has to be the most intimate thing they have ever done: the raw, downright visceral slide of drenched bodies setting him on fire, Harry’s hands grasping his hips with bruising force and unspoken gentleness. Nothing is held back when they come together like this; any masks of shame are stripped and it’s just them—submerged in pure, carefully distilled pleasure and want, panting, climbing, chasing.

“Oh,” Harry says, again and again, soft gasps punctuating each thrust, breathing those little sounds into every knob of Draco’s spine, into the damp air between them. Draco arches his back, seeking friction, something, _anything_ to sate the aching want between his legs, begging to be touched with broken huffs and twitches. Harry’s trembling against him now, his movements turning erratic, fingernails digging desperately into Draco’s sides, scratching down to his hips.

“ _Fuck!_ ” Draco cries out when Harry finally wraps a hand around his cock, not really moving, just slowly massaging the slit with his thumb, making Draco buck in his grip. The sheets underneath them are a mess and so is Draco—precome and lube drip down his cock and thighs and he shivers as cool air washes over the damp, pinkened skin of his cheeks where Harry held onto him. It should be filthy and obscene—and perhaps it is—but it’s also so impossibly arousing and sensual, he couldn’t care less. And at that moment, Draco gives himself over completely—to the unbearable pleasure throbbing along every nerve in his body, building and pulsing stronger with every second, and to Harry, the man he loves more than life itself.

For a moment, the hot pressure between his thighs is gone and Draco nearly cries with need but then, he feels Harry’s hard, slick length brush the delicate skin of his balls and glide up his perineum, leaving a wet trail in its wake. And then, Draco lets out a stream of slurred profanities when Harry presses his pelvis closer and slides his cock into the cleft of Draco’s arse. He shivers at the hardness pushing between his cheeks, not really fucking him, and yet making him moan and eagerly push back.

Harry tenderly palms at the base of his spine, soft and grounding. “Tell me, Draco,” he whispers urgently, dragging his cock over Draco’s wet hole. “Tell me what you want.”

“I need you— _fuck_ , Harry, I—” Draco’s only capable of incoherent babble but knows very well what Harry wants to hear. And, inexplicably, knows that this is for Draco, too.

His eyes start to water as Harry keeps the agonizing, marvellous rhythm. He bends down to place a reverent kiss to Draco’s back and Draco finally chokes the words out. “Fuck, yes, _gods_ , spank me,” he pants. “Ahhh! Harry, _please_ , I need you, I—”

All it takes is one firm slap to his abused cheek, dealt in time with a firm stroke of his cock and Draco can’t hold out any longer. He comes in hot spurts all over Harry’s hand, a torrent of pleasure rippling through him down to the very tips of his toes. He’s shaking and writhing, and Harry slides back between his thighs, holding him through his orgasm. He mouths praise into the skin of Draco’s back, chasing his climax, and when Draco clenches his muscles, riding out the last aftershocks, Harry’s over the edge, too, his come spilling down Draco’s thighs.

Draco finally collapses down onto the sheets; he’s boneless, completely wrung out in the best way possible and doesn’t acknowledge the wet spot he’s lying in or Harry’s heavy weight on top of him. And then, Harry’s flipping him and climbing over his limp, supine body and captures his mouth in a hard, bruising kiss. Their spent cocks lay slotted together in a sticky mess in the dip of his hip, and Harry’s hand is still wet with come when he grabs Draco’s neck, but all Draco can do is groan into the kiss and savour the wonderful, blissed-out dizziness slowly settling into his bones. 

Harry waves his hand and all the mess is gone. Draco feels the cleaning charms, a little on the strong side, considering everything they’ve done, and whimpers softly as the magic skitters across his oversensitive skin.

“I’m sorry, love,” Harry whispers. He lifts the blankets and covers them both in a safe cocoon, wrapping his arms around Draco. Tucking a strand of hair behind Draco’s ear, Harry kisses his temple and strokes his back with slow, tender hands.

“This was amazing,” he whispers. “ _You_ were amazing, gods, Draco.” Harry tries to hold him even closer, burying his face in white-gold hair, inhaling what must be the scent of sweat and concentrated sex.

“Mmhm,” Draco purrs, closing his eyes and enjoying the slow, warm brush of Harry’s fingers.

“So good,” Harry murmurs. “If you could see yourself, so fucking beautiful. So good.”

Draco looks at him dazedly. “Good.”

“Yeah,” he kisses him again. “So good for me. Fuck,” he lets out a breathless laugh. “I love you.”

Draco shifts just an inch, so he can reach Harry’s mouth, and Harry responds in earnest as he captures his mouth, again and again, each kiss deeper than the other.

“Mmm, Draco. Hey,” Harry tips his head up with two fingers. “Do you want some water?”

“No, I’m good. Love you too,” Draco mumbles.

Harry smiles and kisses the tip of his nose. “Okay. Rest, then.”

Tangled beneath the sheets, they fall asleep with their lips still touching.


End file.
